Late August:
the air felt synthetic
and I, a candy-shelled husk of a girl
we both met two years ago,
reduced to pink prescription bliss
next to your fish oils

I peeled off my smile like duct tape
sticky, reluctant to let go
and vowed never to let it meet the sun’s rays,
or your pale face,

Two Days Later:
I mistake crying for laughter
all my dreams are invaded by you
sickening fingerprint smudged
reflections of you
reflections of you

I would like to say
my thoughts don’t snag on these dreams
when I wake

Late August:
closes with the immediacy
it entered with